Surviving Alone
by Hecate Aiwe
Summary: Hecate and Loki Aiwe are about to start their first year at Hogwarts. When tragedy strikes, Hecate is forced to go alone. When she is at her lowest, she finds her only friend in her head of house... Serverus Snape. Set to run alongside Philosopher's Stone
1. Chapter One The Last Day in the Caves

Disclaimer: The story, all characters and places of Philosopher's Stone belong to JK. The Aiwe family (definitely) and anyone else you don't recognise as existing in the world according to JK (probably) belong to me. The story of Hecate also belongs to me, although it is laid over Philosopher's Stone, which I already said wasn't mine. I do not knowingly plagerise anyone (excepting JK, and I'm sure you will spot when I do - those bits aren't mine!) but I have read too many fics and if you think that I have referenced anything you made up, then I appologise in advance and beg your forgiveness (please do tell me if that happens and I will credit accordingly). I also don't like typing disclaimers, and so this one will cover the whole story. Bright Blessings, Hex  
  
Chapter One: The Last Day in the Caves  
  
A grey darkness permeated the air, and wound itself into the very framework of the building. A small child lay shivering under her blankets as the darkness deepened about her. She hated this world, but it was the only way she could see her father. A thin arm snaked around her and she could sense the older boy's thoughts: You scared? She gave no reply. A cool draught flapped the canvas roof under which the children were sheltered, and a flickering in the distant tunnel indicated her father was returning. Warmth filled her body at the thought and she relaxed into sleep at last, knowing she was safe with her father.  
  
No light penetrated the caves in which the family were sleeping, but the day began as, outside, the sun graced the treetops with a pale morning light. Hecate was not the first to wake, for she heard the welcome crackle of flames and the distinctive sound of boiling water as her father prepared his first drink of the day. Creeping out from under Loki's protective arm, and sidestepping round the hump of blankets, which she assumed to be Artemis, she padded over to sit beside the person she loved most in the world. Samuel Aiwe didn't move as he was joined by his only daughter. The boys, as is not uncommon, slept like the dead and could rarely be roused before mid- morning. Hecate, on the other hand, always rose with the dawn. Now, she cuddled up against him, watching the fire, not appearing to care for interaction on any other level. Sam knew that this outward expression was not to be trusted, and that, in all probability, the child was reading his notes. "Entrancement" "What?" "The next word is entrancement." He marvelled at his daughter. She was not yet eleven, but could easily rival him in knowledge of ancient runes. And he read them for a living. "Oh," he replied absently, "Thank you. Tea?" She nodded and he pulled out a second tin cup.  
  
Samuel Aiwe was a curse breaker for Gringotts in their Nordic sector. This was not so exciting as the Egyptian sector, the Nordic curses being less dramatic, though no less deadly, than their African counterparts. However, he was one of the leading officials in Runes in the country (whereas he barely scraped a pass in his Hieroglyph paper) so he wasn't really complaining. There was only one thing he complained about, and that was not getting to see enough of his children. It wasn't so bad in term-time, as he generally got the weekend off, and could return to England and his family. However, in the summer he hated only being able to see them two days a week and so had them visit him in the heart of Scandinavia, or rather under Scandinavia in the ancient vaults of the Viking wizards, buried in long- forgotten (to the muggles) caves. This was one such occasion. He had the children here for a week, before taking two weeks leave in order to spend the rest of the summer preparing his eldest children, the twins, for Hogwarts. They had not yet received their letters, and he doubted they would before their birthdays. Then he pulled out his pocket watch in horror - the message of "I knew you'd forget!" was scrawled across the screen. It was Loki's birthday! Spending weeks at a time in the darkness could cloud the passing of time. Today was 17th August, and his son was eleven. He quickly crossed their camp to his trunk and began fumbling about for the present. "Forget again?" "No, Hecate darling, I did not." "And I'm a Viking." Oh, why did she have to get the sarcasm from me? In an eerily similar gesture, both parties rolled their eyes.  
  
A grumble in the general direction of the unconscious boys stopped the bickering. At the faint sign of life, Hecate bounded back to the camp bed, pouncing on the semi-conscious body that lay there. "Loki!" "Gerrof, Hex." "Happeeeeeeee Birthdayyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" At the (over enthusiastic) mention of birthdays, the boy grinned, pushing his twin off his legs. "Hello ten year old sister." "Hello not-officially-eleven-until-quarter-to-midnight year old brother" She grinned, producing from somewhere on her slight person a wrapped package. As the paper was removed, she motioned to the now-moving object saying offhandedly: "got Dad to charm it." Across his hand stomped a small figure, grey-green cloak falling over chain armour and bearing an axe. The figure was stocky, and had (for the most part) been carved out of clay. On its back, there was a runic inscription, which caused Loki to scowl good-humouredly. "I take it mum helped." "Only a tiny bit." Their mother (a muggle) taught fine art and sculpture at a nearby school. "I love it!" he hugged his sister, "even if it does say that I'm short!" "It only says that you are like Gimli - I know he's your favourite. And you are shorter than me." She gave a devilish grin and leapt deftly off the bed to avoid his tickles. Unfortunately, she forgot her younger brother was currently occupying that part of the floor, and tripped backwards over him. *Oof* "Thanks, Hex." Artemis groaned. "You're welcome." She grinned and skipped over to her father, who was now preparing breakfast. As Loki joined them, Sam revealed a large package. "Alright Dad!" The boy ripped the paper off and let out a squeal of delight. Inside a wooden box lay an ancient looking Viking axe. He lifted it out of the box with a look of awe and his father grinned, then shifted in his seat. "Just. don't tell your mother!" The company burst out laughing.  
  
Hecate was the first to regain her composure, and looked with pleading eyes at her father. "Now, Hecate, you know that your birthday isn't 'till tomorrow." "But Dadeeeeeeeeeeee." she gave her best puppy dog eyes, "Please, daddy. There's only twenty minutes in it!" Fluttering her eyelashes, she continued her pleading gaze. After several minutes, she hadn't wavered and he finally gave in, muttering under his breath: "If your mother ever finds out, I'm a dead man!" as he returned to the trunk. Several minutes of searching later, Hecate was presented with an exceptionally heavy parcel. She carefully removed the wrapping to reveal a large tome, the cover inscription reading "The subtle magic of the Runes". Or at least it would, were the cover inscribed in English. The book, however, was written entirely in the script and language of Old Norse. The girl's eyes bugged and she let out a high-pitched, excited squeal. "Dies Immortalis!* This book is so rare! How in Thor's name did you get hold of it?!" Sam grinned at his daughter. It had taken long enough to track down the copy, which had lain for decades in the attic of a wealthy family well known to his father. Of course, they hadn't minded giving it up, since the ability to read runes had been lost to the family generations back. Still, it had cost him a fair amount, but he knew she would be happy with it. And Samuel Aiwe would do anything to ensure that his daughter was happy. "I have my ways." She ran her fingers lightly over the cover, staring at the book like it might evaporate in her arms, and, without so much as lifting the cover; she re-wrapped the book and held it in her lap. It was far too precious to have out in the dirt of the cave. Not to mention the fact that the light was too poor to read by anyway.  
  
Once breakfast had been eaten and consumed, all eyes turned to Artemis. He shrugged. "Sorry, left 'em at home." Eyes rolled as they looked at the youngest boy. He had definitely inherited his father's scattiness.  
  
While it was effectively a holiday for the children, their father was still officially at work, and so the day began soon after breakfast. The two youngest boys were not informed of the time (about 8:30) or they would have immediately returned to bed. Hecate had packed her present into her shoulder bag, uncaring of the weight: she dared not let the book out of her sight for a minute. At least until they were at home. They headed to the site at which Sam and his team was currently digging*. Hecate and Artemis were eagerly trotting beside their father, the former for her excitement at getting to help her father, the latter because this was the first time he had made such a trip, having previously been deigned 'too young to stay in those ghastly caves' by his mother. Loki followed behind, swinging his new axe at imaginary foes and occasionally muttering of Orcs and Goblins. The eldest of the Aiwe children had developed his mother's obsession with Lord of the Rings.  
  
They arrived at the site and Hecate immediately followed her dad to help with his latest inscription. She had always been fascinated with the runes, and so as soon as she was old enough to sit down with a book (about two and a half) her father had been tutoring her in the ancient language. Loki had taken a slight interest, but had quickly become bored by the tedious process of translations and had only progressed a little in his studies (this still translated as being about OWL level at the age of eleven). Hecate, however, had thrived in the new source of knowledge, and had quickly become fluent. By six, she had been able to do most standard OWL level texts, and by ten, she was able to rival her father, a master in his subject. In fact, Sam had written to Dumbledore on several occasions to request that the girl be able to take her OWL and NEWT in the subject early, but each time the headmaster had replied saying that he thought it wisest to only allow the sitting of such exams at the appropriate age. Sam agreed with this to a point, not wanting his child to tease (or be teased by) other students, but still tried every year. Dumbledore was stubborn as a mule.  
  
The boys quickly became restless, and began to ask relentless questions of their father and his colleagues. "Boys, there is a tour coming by in ten minutes. If you wait quietly, you can go off with them for the day." "Sure." "Thanks Dad." Sam rolled his eyes at the two, and then muttered "Drat!" "Whassup?" Asked Hecate, worriedly. "Oh, I just forgot some of my kit." "I'll go if you like, then you can keep working and your boss won't tell you off again for being forgetful." Sam smiled at his daughter. "You know where the campsite is from here? Past the Odin, take a right through the arch of the Aesir." "Yes, Daddy, I know! It's the green bag?" She received a nod and set off down the chamber past her quarrelling brothers, on her back the bag with her precious birthday present in it.  
  
As she reached the statue of Odin, she heard a rumble and the ground beneath her shuddered. She stopped moving and stared back in the direction of the dig. A loud crash filled the air, along with several shouts and she began to sprint the quarter mile back to her family. After only a few paces, the air suddenly became thick with dust and she fell to the floor, skinning her knees. Ignoring the pain, she pushed herself back up, running at full speed, barely able to breathe. She skidded to a stop as she came to face a large pile of rocks. The tunnel had collapsed and her family was behind the rocks. Screaming their names, reaching out with her heart to them, she threw herself at the wall of rock, dragging away stones that grown men would have had trouble shifting. But the rocks became boulders and her greatest efforts were futile. Screaming, Hecate clawed at the earth, somehow hoping to make a way through. She scraped dirt until she had no nails and her fingers were raw and bleeding - to no effect. Her family was still trapped on the other side of the cave-in. And deep down in her heart, she knew that they were dead.  
  
*******************End of Chapter One**********************  
  
A/N: This is my first HP fic, so play nice! It is based on an RPG character I have, but is intended to be a story in its own right. I warn anyone already hooked that I start back at school (A-levels. Nasty.) soon and thus updates may not be very frequent. Also, I have a brain like a sieve, and so may need reminding that an update is due. That's about it for now, Blessings, Hex * Immortal Gods! (I think I spelt it right) * I figure that some areas of the site must be excavated, and then the curses / inscriptions found there are cracked by people like Sam. 


	2. Chapter Two Broken Heart

Chapter Two: Broken Heart  
  
Almost an hour had passed, and the girl eventually collapsed, physically and emotionally drained. She had screamed until her throat was hoarse, and then she cried bitter tears. Slowly, the darkness became total, and she knew no more. That was how the rescue party found her, hours later, having had to take a long, roundabout route to that side of the caves. She was the only living person found that day. When she next awoke, she found herself in a bright, white room. Her mother's face greeted her with a smile that did not reach to block the shadow in her eyes. "Daddy? Loki? Artie?" The young girl choked out the names, needing no further explanation to her question. Her mother shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm so, so sorry." And mother and daughter held each other and cried. Hecate broke apart suddenly, remembering. "Book?" She croaked, unintelligibly, her throat dry and cracked from crying. Her mother passed a glass of water to her lips and then the girl repeated herself more clearly. "My book? Where?" Understanding dawned, and Hecate was passed her dusty rucksack. The youngster held it tightly, tears taking hold once more - this was the first birthday she had ever had without her twin. And it wouldn't be the last. Loki was dead. He died on his birthday, along with her younger brother and beloved father. Hecate cried so hard that she thought she might die from a broken heart.  
  
The next day, the two Flooed home. The crushed and broken bodies of Sam, Loki and Artemis were to be sent after them, in time for the funeral on the twentieth.  
  
Hecate distanced herself from her mother. She refused to leave her bedroom, not responding to her worried mother's cries on the other side of the door. She refused to open the letter with the Hogwarts seal, noting that only one arrived; her twin was dead. She refused to eat the food that was left for her - she drew into herself, blaming herself. Especially for her father's death. That could have been prevented. If he had gone to get the bag, not her, then he would be alive now, and Hecate would be with her brothers.  
  
The day of the funeral came, and Hecate finally emerged, skeletally thin (having not eaten for three days) and dressed totally in black, veil over her face and a bag over her shoulder. Her mother beckoned her to the car that stood waiting. The funeral was to take place at a wizarding churchyard, but there were going to be muggles present - her mum's side of the family. Throughout the service, Hecate cried silently, but refused any comfort from her mother. When the three coffins were lowered into the ground, she opened her bag. The first object was a small, wrapped item - the present that Artemis had forgotten for his brother. She let it fall, unopened into her twin's grave. She then took out several more items, each cheerfully wrapped for her brother's birthday, and dropped them to the ground. She then took the first handful of dirt, and threw it into the grave. The rest of the family followed her example, and soon they were turning to leave, walking past the small, black figure that watched the graves fill. Once the muggles had left (excepting Hecate's mother, who knew about magic) the graves were filled and three heavy tombstones were laid. Her mother tried to guide Hecate from the graves, but the girl had once more opened her bag. She removed three beautifully carven plaques of clay, each painted and inscribed, individually, for her brothers and father, and laid beneath the respective tombstone. The first read: "My dearest Loki, you will now never grow to dwarf me, for you fell in the  
caves, and shall not return. Not even that axe could protect you from the cruel stone. Pass now, into the Halls  
of Mandos, and await me there. I love you." Beside the inscription on one side was a painted representation of her twin, on the other, his axe.  
  
Upon the second was a representation of Artemis, and the words:  
  
"Darling Artemis, that I should outlive you is an unfair event, but you  
shall live forever in my heart.  
  
I regret now that I teased you so, and you shall always be my little  
brother. Goodbye, your Hikty.  
  
The third inscription was unreadable to most, for the plaque was covered entirely in gracefully carved runes. She never translated it for anyone, telling those who asked that it was between her and her Daddy. Only the masters of the language could read her goodbye.  
  
She knelt then, and spoke aloud prayers and incantations for the dead in the ancient tongue. She conjured wards of protection and happiness for the afterlife, invoking the old Gods to keep her family safe as she wept for her loss. The few people left at the gravesite watched her and marvelled as she grieved in the only way she knew how.  
  
After she laid the plaques, she walked up to a wizard dressed in black. "Please," she whispered, "could you make them last forever?" The man, who she finally recognised as her uncle, nodded silently and cast weatherproofing and anti-ageing charms on the three tablets.  
  
At the wake, her mother had words with her husband's brother, who agreed to take the girl under his wing for the remaining summer. Susan Aiwe was too distraught at losing her husband and sons, and too hurt by her daughter's refusal to acknowledge her, to cope with preparing the girl for school in a world that she knew nothing about. The young man, so unlike his brother, had gotten the child to eat at the wake, telling her that her father would be furious if she starved herself to death on his account and then threatening to put a spell on her that would force her to eat. She had given in quickly to him, partially because she felt he was all she had left of her father (having no other living relations on her father to speak of) and partially because she believed his words to her. Only a little bit of her was scared of being force-fed.  
  
Three days after the funeral, Hecate, who was now staying with her Uncle Derrick, was finally persuaded to open her Hogwarts letter. She didn't read it, but passed it directly to her uncle. "We're gonna have to go to Diagon Alley to get this." "I know." Whispered the girl, "but I don't know if I can." Derrick pulled his niece into a hug, and let her cry on his shoulder. After a long moment he said: "You know, it's best to get these things over and done with." Hecate nodded, she knew what that meant. "But I haven't got any money." "Get your coat. I'll pay and I can sort it our with your d-mother later." As she noticed the stutter, a sadness that had never really left crept back into Hecate's eyes. She went to get her coat.  
  
The Leaky Cauldron was full and bustling, not caring for the griefs of one eleven year old girl. She stayed close to her uncle as she was lead towards the entrance to the alley. As always, she gasped at the magnificence of the alley before her eyes filled with tears. She had hardly been here without her twin. And when she had, it had been with her father. Now she was alone.  
  
Uncle Derrick looked down at his charge and put a reassuring arm on her shoulder, squatting down to her level. "You okay?" She nodded, looking determined. "Where first?"  
  
The first stop was Gringotts, which proved too much for Hecate. Seeing the Goblins made her think of her father. She blamed them for his death almost as much as she blamed herself. As soon as they approached the bank, the child began shaking violently, her hands balled into tight fists. Tears began to stream down her face. As soon as he noticed this, Derrick steered her aside, going instead into Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. As they entered, Madame Malkin entered and looked cheerfully at Derrick. "Hogwarts?" He nodded. Madame Malkin then took a look at the pale, tear- stained face of his charge. With a questioning look, she steered Hecate onto a box to be fitted then turned to Derrick. He muttered "cave-in" and the woman nodded. It had been all over the Prophet that several people had been killed at a cave-in at one of the Gringotts sites in Norway. Including one of the world's best rune masters and his two sons. His daughter had been there, but was just returning to the area when it caved in, leaving her trapped, safe, without her family. Madame Malkin assumed this to be the same little girl, but she said nothing. Whilst she was being fitted, a short, squat boy was lead onto the box beside Hecate. A rather intimidating woman with a vulture in her hat was watching him. "H-hello." He stuttered. "You starting Hogwarts, too?" Hecate nodded. "My name's Neville. What's yours?" She looked at him sadly before replying "Hecate." "Which house do you think you'll be in? My Gran thinks I shall be a Gryffindor, especially with my parents being there and all, but I don't think I'm brave enough." Hecate smiled. "My brother and I always thought we would be in Gryffindor." Neville looked around stupidly for a moment before asking: "Where's your brother?" "He died." She replied in a detached tone. Neville's eyes went wide, then he looked to the floor, mumbling "Sorry." At that point, Derrick returned to collect Hecate and her robes and, paying, they left.  
  
The next shop they went into was Florish and Blotts and Hecate went straight for the runes section. She stroked her hands over the spines of several large books, before stopping on one called Ancient Nordic Wizardry. She remembered her father's rant about the book, though he had not read the newest edition and was leant a copy by a friend several years beforehand. She removed the book from the shelf and began to carry it over to where her uncle was waiting to pay for her schoolbooks. "'Scuse me, Miss, " An old man who worked at the store stopped her. " I think that's a bit advanced for you." He went to take the book off her but she hugged it to her chest. "No, its not. I can read it." She said calmly. "Come now, you can't be more than second year, and they don't even teach 'runes at 'Ogwarts 'till third year." "I said I can read it" She spat as he made another move for the book. "I'll prove it." And with that, she opened at the first page and began to read, in translation, the introduction to book. The old man glared, but let her pass him on to her uncle, who quickly agreed to buy her the book.  
  
The last shop was Ollivander's. Hecate tried to refuse to enter, but her uncle was forceful - she had to get a wand. Mister Ollivander, pale, bespectacled man, met her eyes over the counter. "Ah, miss Aiwe. I was wondering when I would have the pleasure of meeting you. Your father was a highly intelligent man, and you look to follow in his footsteps. It is such a shame about your brothers. I would have liked to see them get their wands." Hecate inclined her head sadly, not knowing what to make of the man in front of her. She soon found a wand thrust into her hand, and she waved it, not listening to the muttering of Mister Ollivander. It was taken away, and a new one was placed. This process went on for quite a while. Finally, a stream of sparks left the wand that had just been placed in her palm, and she smiled. "Good, good. Seven inch, silver birch with a unicorn hair." They paid for the wand and then returned, through the Leaky Cauldron to Uncle Derricks house.  
  
That night, she attempted to pack her father's trunk with her school supplies. She put in her cauldron, schoolbooks and potions ingredients, clothes and robes, making sure to only fill one half of the trunk. In the other, she put her rune dictionary, a handful of books she owned on the subject as well as her birthday present and the history book she had had just bought. Unfortunately, the only way she could fit all her runes books was to take out her school supplies. Groaning in frustration, she decided to get Uncle Derrick to help her in the morning. Turning to her bed, she said her prayers and sent her spells to the spirits of her father and brothers, as she had every night since they had died. By the door, Derrick Aiwe listened as his niece prayed in the ancient language and a tear fell onto his cheek. "poor child" he whispered to the night.  
  
**********************End of Chapter Two************************  
  
A/N: Hope you liked! I have just realised that I haven't really described Hecate. you'll get one eventually, but for now, just so you know, she has mid-back length straight black hair and pale skin, dark brown eyes, is reasonably tall for eleven (though doesn't rival Ron) and a cute button nose. Hope this helps with the mental images. Blessings, Hex 


	3. Chapter Three New Surroundings

Chapter Three: New Surroundings  
  
Eventually, September first came, and eleven days after the funeral, Hecate had become withdrawn and cold, though she still prayed every night to the spirits of the dead. Derrick was worried about her, and had sent a letter to Dumbledore expressing his concerns for the child. He had done all he could.  
  
At the station, barely a goodbye had been said, although she had thanked him again for enlarging her trunk to hold all the dozens of runic texts and her school supplies. Then she had walked off to find a compartment in the train.  
  
Alone at last, Hecate pulled out her Nordic History and began to read. Every time the door opened with someone looking for a seat, she gave such a fierce glare that they shrank away from her. Even second and third years. The whole journey she was left alone, apart from the occasions when a fluffy-haired girl calling herself Hermione came looking for a toad (and left muttering "How rude") and when the lunch-lady popped her head in. By the time they arrived, she was over halfway through the thick book.  
  
When the train pulled into the station, her ears were assaulted with a very loud "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!". As she approached, she heard the voice, directed somewhere behind her, say "All right there, Harry?" She followed the large man, ignoring his continued tattering to the 'firs'- years' and hoping that her trunk (namely her books) was safe. There was a loud "Oooooh!" from the crowd around her, and she noticed that if her eyes left the ground, she could see the castle across the lake. The large man then directed them into the boats and Hecate clambered in, not paying attention to the other three people in her boat.  
  
The group climbed out into a small, stony harbour. They clambered up a passageway to a large door, which thudded three times as the large man's fist came down on it. A tall, black-haired witch opened it, and the man called her Professor McGonagall. She in turn, called him Hagrid. She led them into the entrance hall and gave them what amounted to a small lecture, before departing. There was a short confrontation between a white-haired boy, and two others, a black-haired boy and a red-haired boy. Hecate ignored it, much as she ignored the rest of the conversations going on around her. Professor McGonagall returned and led them all into the hall. The fluffy-haired girl was now muttering about the enchanted ceiling to whoever would listen. In front of them, a wizard's hat was placed on a wooden stool, and after a few moments, it began to sing. Hecate didn't listen to the song. She was lost in thought. Thought that mostly included the fact that she was here alone. She was startled back to reality when the professor began reading names off a scroll. "Abott, Hannah!" After a few moments, the hat proclaimed the pudgy blonde girl's house "HUFFLEPUFF!" and she was cheered over to her house table. Next, McGonagall proclaimed "Aiwe, Hecate!" As she walked to the stool, she grumbled to herself "It's Aiwe, not Aiweee". She finally approached the stool and put the battered hat on her head. She heard a voice begin to mutter. "Where to put you? You were once a Gryffindor, no mistake there, but you have seen so much since then, and you changed." "Yeah, my family died." she thought back at the hat. "Temper, temper, I know where to put you. SLYTHERIN!" The last word was shouted to the hall, and she joined her house table. As she walked, she thought over what the hat had told her. Have I really changed that much? Then another part of her spoke up. Of course you have! The Gryffindor in you died with Loki. She half-nodded to herself and then sat at the Slytherin table as Bones, Susan was also pronounced a Hufflepuff.  
  
Through the rest of the sorting, Hecate stared into space. She looked up when the name Potter, Harry was called, unsurprised when he became a Gryffindor, then removed her gaze back to the enchanted ceiling. By the time the sorting was over, there were a half dozen new Slytherins, none of whom Hecate particularly liked the look of. She ate silently, praying for the end of the feast and her welcome bed. Dumbledore made several announcements, to which Hecate paid little attention. She looked wistfully over to the Gryffindor table and thought: we should be there. But Loki would never see Hogwarts. Soon the hall was filled with a murmuring and shuffling as the prefects rose and called for the first-years to follow them to their house dormitories. Hecate followed the Slytherin prefect who had been sitting nearest to her. They came, eventually, to the dungeons, and the prefect stopped beside a blank wall. Gesturing to a tapestry that hung on the opposite wall he spoke: "Remember that hanging - it marks the entrance to the common room. The password is ." "Has been changed." Spoke a loud, intimidating voice. Turning, Hecate recognised it as belonging to one of the professors - presumably her head of house. "May I ask why, professor?" "No, you may not. The password is now Veritaserum." As he spoke the last word, the wall opposite the tapestry opened and revealed a large, green decorated, stone room. Hecate made to enter, but the professor put a hand to her shoulder. "A word, if you please, miss Aiwe."  
  
Hecate followed Snape into his office. She tried to hide the fear she felt at being singled out so early. "Miss Aiwe. I have been asked by Professor Dumbledore to have a word with you before you settle in. I know it must be hard to be here alone, and if you ever need to talk to anyone you can generally find me here." Hecate nodded and then he added: "Don't just bottle it all in. Try and make friends - you will be amazed at the healing powers of friendship." Snape looked at the girl standing before him, at the pain in her eyes and the way she choked back tears at his words. He was glad that he had had the password changed - he didn't want to think of her reaction to having to a password like that. He almost felt like he should take her in his arms and comfort her. Almost. However, he did have his reputation to uphold.  
  
" Thank you, professor." "Any time. Now, lets get you to bed." He half-smiled at her, before leading her back to the common room. "If I remember correctly, right is girls, left is boys. Look for the sign 'first years'." And with that, Professor Snape left her, scowling at himself. If anyone saw him around the girl then his reputation would be ruined.  
  
She found her way to the dormitory, and went over to the one unoccupied bed. The other two girls appeared to be asleep as Hecate undressed and put on her nightie. She then sank to her knees beside the bed and muttered her prayers, before climbing into bed and letting sleep overpower her.  
  
***************************End of Chapter Three*********************************  
  
A/N: I was going to wait until I got at least one review before I updated, but I figured that may never happen, so I'll update now. If anyone HAS read, please tell me if you liked (or not) - it can't be THAT bad, can it?! 


	4. Chapter Four Lessons Begin

Chapter Four: Lessons Begin  
  
The next morning, Hecate woke, as usual, with the sun, and decided that she should unpack. Opening the trunk that was laid at the end of the bed, she pulled out a long, thin slat of wood. She laid by the wall beside her bed and muttered an incantation. The wood stretched upwards and divided. This was a present that her uncle had given her - a magical flat-pack bookcase - and he had made sure that she could make it pack and unpack effortlessly before they left. Once the shelving was of adequate size, she began to lift out all her books. On the centre shelf, which she could most easily reach, she set her school books, Early Nordic History and several of her most-used rune books, including the well-loved dictionary that her father had given her. She had, in fact, inherited all of his rune books, but it was too painful for her to claim them now. On the other shelves, she placed all her other books, and at the very top she had a wooden box (the one Loki had received his axe in) in which she kept her most precious possessions: The Subtle magic of the Runes and Loki's copy of Lord of the Rings. This box was opened by pressing the correct pattern of the runes that were inscribed on the lid.  
  
Once all her books were displayed correctly, she removed some clothes from the trunk and went to the bathrooms to wash and dress, putting on also the thin leather wrist-sheath for her wand (a gift that her father had bought at the beginning of the summer so that she and Loki could keep their wands - once they got them - safe) and covering it with her sleeve. It was still early when she returned, and she doubted that she could find her way to the Great Hall alone, so she settled on her bed and continued reading Nordic History. By eight o'clock, Millicent and Pansy had each woken, stared at Hecate and padded off to dress. When they returned, Hecate replaced her book and made to leave with them. "I'm Pansy, are you Hecate?" said a slight girl with blonde hair. She responded with a nod. Pansy leant closer and whispered "what were you saying last night. it didn't sound like English." "What's it to you?" snarled Hecate. Pansy looked scared. "Nothing, I just wondered because it wasn't English." Hecate didn't respond.  
  
Once in the Great Hall, Hecate was passed a piece of parchment containing a timetable. She noticed impassively that Wednesday morning was Double Transfiguration*. She returned with the other first years to Slytherin dungeons, ignoring the excited chattering around her. She noticed the white- haired boy from the day before was in her house, and she assumed (from his conversation) that he was called Draco. He was followed closely by two thuggish looking boys whose names were not referenced. Back in her room, she packed the books she needed for the day into her bag (Standard Book of Spells, Magical Theory, Beginner's Transfiguration and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi) along with a quill, ink and several parchment rolls. She also included a muggle exercise book, which she used as a general notebook. Then, noticing a tiny bit of space left, she also packed her Nordic History. Grunting under the weight as she lifted the bag to her shoulder, she made her way to Transfiguration.  
  
Professor McGonagall was not a witch to cross. She began the lesson with a lecture on how "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts." Before giving them all a matchstick to transfigure into a needle. After about half and hour, Hecate's matchstick was a shade of grey, but otherwise no different. She began doodling in her exercise book. As McGonagall came towards her, she shut the book and returned to the match. "Try again, Miss Aiwe." Pointing her wand once more at the grey matchstick, she concentrated hard and was certain she heard a *pop*. Opening her eyes, she saw that the stick had become shinier, slightly thinner and the end came together into a point. It was still, unmistakably, wooden, but she was only one of two to make a difference to her match (the other one being Draco, but his was just thinner and pink) and she was rewarded with a smile from her professor. As the bell went and everyone packed their books away, she muttered "Loki would have done it." before leaving with the crowd.  
  
Her second class was Charms. Hecate thought that the tiny Professor Flitwick was far too excitable, and, after he had demonstrated simple levitation with Pansy's hairbrush (vain child), he set them copious amounts of theory and said that if they worked hard, they might actually get to start levitation before Halloween. Looking at the blackboard, a piece of chalk moved, apparently of its own accord, and wrote in a curling hand 'Read chapters one and two of Magical Theory and make notes. Hand in to me at the end of the lesson.' Hecate groaned - she knew the theory. How else could she have filled all those lonely hours at the end of the summer if not through reading - it was the only way to keep her mind off them, to keep her mind busy. So she had read her schoolbooks. Then she read them again. Then a third time, and again until she had committed their contents to memory in less than a week. Her Uncle Derrick had not let her have her wand until she was on the train, so she hadn't tried any of the spells yet. But she knew the theory of how. Ignoring the instructions, she instead pulled out her copy of Nordic History and continued where she had left off that morning. Nobody noticed the girl in the back row whose long, dark hair fell forward and over the sides of the book she was reading. It was only towards the end of the lesson, when she still hadn't picked up a quill, that Flitwick approached her. "Miss Aiwe?" She looked up. "Yes, Professor." "Have you finished the set chapters?" "Yes, Professor." The tiny professor then noticed the book she was reading was definitely not Magical Theory. "What are you reading?" "An Early Nordic History, sir." "Where is your textbook?" "In my bag, sir." Professor Flitwick looked exasperatedly at her. "Why are you not making notes?" "I already did, sir. Over the summer." Hecate then produced her copy of the book. At irregular intervals, which presumably marked the end of each chapter, several parchment sheets were added to the book. She pulled out the first two sheets and handed them to her teacher. With a rather startled expression, he replied: "Thank you, Miss Aiwe." The bell went, and the pupils prepared to leave. "Homework!" called the professor in a shrill voice, *universal groan*, "Is to make sure that you know and understand what you have done today." Hecate made to leave. "Miss Aiwe?" "Yes, professor?" "I would like very much if you would write me an essay on levitation charms. Use just the knowledge the you acquired over the summer." She smiled. "Thank you, professor." There was one more piece of work to keep her busy.  
  
Her last class, Herbology, was not so good. They shared the class with the Ravenclaws, and although Hecate could answer Professor Sprout's questions, the Greenhouse made her remember Artie - the gardener of the family - and she had struggled to hide her emotions. At one point, Draco Malfoy (for that was the white-haired boy's name) noticed a sheen of tears in her eyes as she looked at one of the plants that Artie so loved, and persisted in making the rest of the lesson hellish for her. "Awww, poor wittle baby scared of the nasty plants?" Hecate gave him a scathing glare. "Back off, Malfoy!" A voice spoke from behind her. It was one of the Ravenclaw boys. Malfoy looked surprised, and was about to reply when Professor Sprout walked past. "I'm Terry. You're Hecate, aren't you?" She nodded, turning from Malfoy and taking a place beside Terry on the other side of the greenhouse. The look on her face made him refrain from mentioning her family.  
  
After lessons, Hecate made her own way to the dungeons. She claimed a small area by the wall, closed off on two sides where the wall jutted in, which fitted a single, green leather chair and low table. Setting her books out on the table, she quickly finished the work set by McGonagall and Sprout, before starting the essay that Flitwick had asked her to do. By dinnertime, she had analysed levitation charms from every angle that the theory of the first five chapters of Magical Theory allowed her and it already filled over four feet of parchment. She had eight more chapters of theory to cover after she had eaten. Work on her essay was interrupted at just gone eight when Malfoy and his gang decided to taunt her. "What's this?" He asked disdainfully, indicating the essay, which was now pooling on the floor. She was within a foot from the end of the scroll, and so had begun the conclusion without fully dissecting the final chapter of the book. If she started another scroll, she would want to fill it. "An essay." "Oh really," he sneered. "But we didn't get any essays." "Flitwick asked me to do it." "Oooh! Right little teacher's pet, aren't we?" She glared at him. "I, unlike some, take pride in my work." "But you still cry at the nasty plants." Hecate glowered. "Not so big now, are we? No tough Ravenclaws to protect their little birdie." Anger bubbled up, and she locked eyes with the boy. Her expression was so fierce that she saw fear in the other's eyes. She began to speak in a low voice, the words rolling and threatening. The boy paled, stuttering to his friends "what's she doing?" Hecate's voice rose, as she called Malfoy every foul name she could think of in Old Norse and watched as he lost his cool, eventually running full speed from the common room. With a smirk, the young witch sat and resumed her essay, thinking it was a pity that she hadn't learnt enough to use some actual curses. She had to settle with calling him, among other (nastier) things, a 'dirty son of a whore worth less than a donkey's excrement'.  
  
With her essay finished, rolled and safe in her bag, she settled down with her Nordic History, distancing herself from the rest of her house and into the world her father had introduced to her. She stayed until her roommates had been in bed an hour before retiring.  
  
The next morning, she noticed that the first year Slytherins were avoiding her like the plague. She sat alone, at the back of her DADA class, and took copious notes - filling the gaps in her stuttering teacher's information with details picked up in various books she had read. Charms was much the same as the day before, but it was a double period. Professor Flitwick's eyes had almost popped out of his head when he saw the length of the essay. Instead of letting her spend the time as she wished, he asked her to write an essay of her choice using the theory in her book. (He explained that he couldn't let her start the practical work, as he didn't want her too far ahead of the class - this way she could enforce her knowledge of the theory in a way that challenged her more.) At the end of the lesson, she handed him another six feet on tickling charms (he let out a little laugh) and then copied the homework from the board to do with the rest of the class. After lunch, double HoM was exceedingly dull, but she dutifully took notes, word for word, from the dull ghost. If she was writing about the rebellions then her mind couldn't wander to her hatred of the Goblins, and why she hated them. She finished all her homework before dinner, and was not disturbed once by the Malfoy. Or anyone else for that matter.  
  
*********************************End of Chapter Four************************* * I am making the 1st September a Tuesday, since JK makes no ref.( 


	5. Chapter Five The Potions Master

Chapter Five: The Potions Master  
  
Friday mornings laid claim to double potions. This took place in the dungeons, in the classroom that was adjacent to Snape's office. It was a cool room, with jars of pickled creatures lining the walls. Hecate chose a seat in the shadows at the back of the room. It soon became evident that this class was shared with the Gryffindors, as a chattering group settled at the table in front of her and she noticed among them Harry Potter and the fluffy-haired girl from the train. The Slytherins occupied the other side of the room, and no one joined Hecate at the back. The room silenced as the black-robed potions master swept in, surveying the room with a scowl before lifting the register from his desk. He read quickly down the list, raising an eyebrow at Hecate when he spotted her in the back, not pausing until he came to Harry Potter. He sneered at the boy, and said softly "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity," Draco and his gang sniggered as Snape went through the rest of the list.  
  
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," his voice was low and enthralling - Hecate hung on every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron and its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Hecate rolled her eyes at the obviously-excited Gryffindor girl in front of her. There were many ways of proving that one wasn't a dunderhead, and sitting on the edge of the seat looking eager to show off wasn't one of them. "Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hecate doodled in the corner of her exercise book, a smoking flask labelled with the words Draught of the Living Death. In front of her, the Gryffindor girl waved her arms in the air. "I don't know, sir," said Harry. Sneering, Snape turned on the boy. "Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything. Lets try again. Potter, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Hecate was getting irritated by the other girl's enthusiasm now. Her next doodle was a goat, an arrow labelled 'bezoar' pointing to a black mark on the stomach. Again, Potter replied "I don't know, sir." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" There was a slight pause. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" By now, Hecate was sure that the girl would wet herself from excitement as she bounced off the edge of her seat and stood, stretching for the ceiling. In the margin, a third doodle appeared, containing the word NONE. "I don't know, " Harry Potter almost whispered. " I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"  
  
As Snape gave the answers (exactly what Hecate had thought) and ordered them to write them down (Hecate thought her doodles were adequate) she wondered why her head of house had it in for Harry Potter. She also marvelled that this was the same man that had told her he would be there for her if she needed it. A third idea drifted into her head, and she began to pen a letter to her grandfather.  
  
In the rest of that lesson, they were set to mix a simple potion to cure boils. He made them partner up (though the odd number allowed Hecate to remain alone. As he walked past her, he muttered "What did I say about friends, miss Aiwe?" She shrugged and he turned to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was just stewing his slugs. Suddenly, acid green smoke filled the air and Snape turned sharply around. Neville, who had obviously gotten his wish and become a Gryffindor, was standing beside a mangled cauldron, covered in boils. Snape then rounded on Harry again, as Neville was led off to the hospital wing.  
  
By the end of the lesson, almost everyone had brewed the potion to an adequate standard. Hermione had preceded to look gloatingly at her housemates when her potion was finished flawlessly. Had she turned around, she would have noticed that Hecate's potion was already brewed, bottled and packed away by this point, which had earned the raven-haired girl a rare smile from her head of house. As she prepared to leave the classroom, Hecate was stopped by Snape. "I meant what I said about friends, miss Aiwe." The girl's eyes blazed as she turned on her professor. "With who, Malfoy? He's got the whole house against me." "That would have nothing to do with Old Norse curses, would it?" The older man asked, the faintest twinkle in his eye. Hecate had the good grace to blush at the comment, muttering "he deserved it." "I thought so. Please refrain from scaring your dorm-mates or I will have to dock points." "Yes, sir."  
  
Before she went to lunch, Hecate finished the letter to her mother's father and went to the Owlery, picking up a school owl and tying the parchment to it. The letter read:  
  
Dearest Grandpa, I have missed you. If I have judged correctly, you will understand, since I recently received a most unusual letter, and realised something that happened a long time ago was not a mistake. Do you have any  
explanation for this?  
Love your favourite granddaughter, Hex xxx  
  
Looking at the name that she had signed, she rolled her eyes. "And I don't know any. that shall have to be rectified."  
  
There was no time for daydreams in Transfiguration that afternoon, but her last period was with Quirrel, the stuttering, turban-clad idiot who would jump at his own shadow (her first thoughts on meeting him were: He's hiding something.) and so she began her plan her weekend. As soon as the bell went, Hecate ran towards the library.  
  
Saturday morning dawned fresh and bright, and taking advantage of the fact that none of her housemates would be up for at least two hours (and many would not appear until nearly lunchtime) Hecate went, still in her nightie, down to the common room and claimed her usual corner, which Malfoy had lovingly started calling 'the nest' since the nickname he derived after Herbology had stuck. The night before, she had ensured that all her homework was complete, as well as the 'revision essay' she had set herself after potions concluding that the work Snape had set was far too easy (potions being her favourite and best subject), so as to leave the whole weekend free to work on her 'plan'. Thus, she settled in her chair, legs crossed beneath her, and spread her Standard Book of Spells on the table in front of her. Also on the table were her wand and an Eagle-feather quill. "Sod getting ahead." and she picked up her wand, pointing it at the quill. After several careful practices of the 'swish and flick' motion, she finally spoke the incantation. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Slowly the feather rose off the desk. By the time people had started moving about in the dormitories, Hecate had mastered the basics of the spell, and retired once more to her room. Noting the open hangings on her roommates' beds, she quickly dressed and left the dungeons - she did not want her housemates to know what she was doing. By lunchtime, Hecate could levitate almost any item in the empty charms classroom that she was taking shelter in. When she went to bed on Sunday, she had moved on to a slower imitation of the demonstration that Professor Flitwick had given in their first lesson.*  
  
Over the next week, lessons continued as before. She continued to impress all her teachers (including Snape), and handed in all homework perfect and on time. She rarely got less than 100% in anything. After classes, she did homework, self-set revision essays and worked through the simple charms, perfecting each one and not moving on until the relevant motions and incantations were second nature. Hecate spent every hour from dawn until she was forced into bed late in the evening writing essays, translating runes or working on her plan. The only times she stopped was for meals, which she frequently skipped, and even when she did show there was usually a large book propped up in front of her plate. But at least, for a time, she forgot.  
  
By Thursday afternoon, her work-till-you-drop lifestyle was beginning to show. Her long, usually sleek and shining, raven hair had become lank and greasy; her dark eyes seemed to have sunk into her face beneath the grey- blue bags and her previously clear, white skin was pasty and sallow. Her first flying lesson was the first time she had been outside (barring the short walk to and from Herbology) since the first of September.  
  
Malfoy was quick to notice when her broom didn't respond to her the first time she said "up", and he turned to her, smirking. His own had, reluctantly, jolted into his hand with little hesitation. Talking to Crabbe and Goyle, who were obediently flanking him, and making sure that Hecate heard though Madame Hooch did not, he said "Oh dear! Can't the birdie fly?" His tone was so sickly and full of fake pity that Hecate had to restrain herself from hitting him. Instead, she gave him a glare that would have made him shake in his boots (had he been looking at her) and muttered many things to herself, including, on several occasions, the word donkey.  
  
Across the lawn, Neville Longbottom saw the glare that Hecate gave Malfoy and quivered, dropping the remembrall. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite remember. He was still trying to place it when Madame Hooch told them all to mount their brooms. He was preparing himself to kick off when his eyes became wide with realisation. Before he realised what he was doing, his feet had hit the ground and he was soaring upwards, towards the castle.  
  
Madam Hooch shouted something, but Neville couldn't hear the words - he was too high up. He tried to look down at the rapidly shrinking class and with a gasp he felt his grip on the broom lessen and found himself hurtling towards the ground. As he landed, there was a nasty *crack* and an incredible pain blossomed in his wrist, spreading outwards into his hand and arm. Madame Hooch was bending over him, face white and worried, surveying the damage.  
  
"Broken wrist. come on, boy - it's all right, up you get." She turned to the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of here before you can say 'Quidditch'." She turned back to Neville. "Come on, dear."  
  
Malfoy and the other Slytherins began picking fun at the incident as soon as Madam Hooch was out of earshot. Pansy snapped "Shut up, Malfoy" but Hecate decided, from the pallor of her dorm-mate, that it was more because she was squeamish over the injury than any pity she felt for Neville. Suddenly, Malfoy bent down and retrieved a shiny, glass ball from the ground. As he held it to the light, Harry Potter stepped forward. "Give it here, Malfoy."  
  
All chatter ceased. Everyone was watching the confrontation. Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect - how about - up a tree?"  
  
"Give it here!" Harry yelled. Malfoy quickly mounted his broomstick and kicked off. Looking determined, Potter grabbed his own broom. The fluffy- haired Gryffindor - Hermione - yelled after him: "No! Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll got us all into trouble."  
  
Hecate watched as Harry chased Malfoy into the air, before executing a perfect dive, catching the small ball before toppling onto the grass with a slight *thud* ball in hand.  
  
There was a shout from towards the castle and Professor McGonagall came running towards the class. After stuttering in shock for a few moments, she led Potter back towards the castle.  
  
Malfoy was too busy gloating about getting Harry into trouble to bother any more with Hecate.  
  
*************************End of Chapter Five*******************************  
  
A/N: Hope you like it ( I think it is obvious that I snitched a lot of this chapter from JK, and if you can't spot the bits that I did then you have to re-read PS/SS.  
  
Please someone review me! I'm feeling exceptionally unloved at the moment, and I really would appreciate someone telling me how good/bad/boring/stupid etc. this is.  
  
Also, I am looking for someone to beta me - if anyone wants to volunteer, email me. Thanks,  
  
Hex. * making things whiz round the room - in her first lesson, this was Malfoy's hat. 


	6. Chapter Six Confrontations

A/N: WOW! I HAVE REVIEWS! Thank you so much to Shattered Destiny, coolspot, MCMish and Phoenix- daughter (who has also bravely accepted the position of Beta).  
  
I apologise for the slow update, and am warning that it may be a while before the next chapter - A-levels and UCAS getting me down!  
  
And now, to the story.  
  
Chapter Six: Confrontations  
  
In the run-up to Halloween, the school was starting to buzz with excitement. The third years would finally get their first glimpse of Hogsmeade and everyone, in general, was looking forward to the feast. Well, almost everyone. Hecate Aiwe was still unhappy, and the approaching festivities were making her more so. Not that she would be celebrating in the same sort of way she had at home, but she would be forced into a situation where everyone else would be happy and she would be left with memories. Memories which brought nothing but pain.  
  
She wandered, only semi-conscious of the route that she was taking back to the dungeons as she herself was lost in thought, through the hallways of Hogwarts, attempting to recite the list of curses that she had learnt in the last week, in alphabetical order. It was not too hard, since she had only managed one or two a day - her stamina was wavering, though she wouldn't admit it. Suddenly, with a thud, she found herself on the floor, her book-bag burst and contents dispersed throughout the surrounding area. In front of her, in the process of getting to his feet, was a rather angry- looking potions master. Hecate cringed. "Sorry, Professor. Didn't see you there." Snape took one look at her, waved his wand at the mess on the floor - which instantly re-organised itself - and motioned her to stand. "Please come with me, Miss Aiwe."  
  
He walked silently ahead of her all the way to his office, whence he opened the door and gestured her inside. Once they were both seated, he began: "Miss Aiwe, I'm afraid that we have a problem." "I haven't done anything to Malfoy." she started quickly, but he waved a hand in silence. This fact in itself wasn't exactly true, since there was the incident where she had transformed the buttons-that-had-previously-been- beetles back to their original form and slipped them (with a cunning levitation charm) into Malfoy's dinner. But nobody knew about that one.  
  
"I have not called you here to discuss Mr Malfoy. though perhaps that conversation can be held at a later date." "Oh. So. what did you want?" "The staff and I have become rather worried about your current state of health." "Is this because of my grades? Because I can get them back up, I swear!" "If it were just your grades, then there would be little problem. First- years often slip a bit once they have settled in and the work gets harder. And your current grades are still very good, though your percentile in Potions is now in the low nineties." He took a breath, trying to get his thoughts back on track. "I came to find you, because Professor Flitwick just gave me your most recent Charms essay." "What was wrong with my essay?" Hecate shot, a previously dimmed fire flaring behind her dark eyes. "Professor Flitwick assured me that he was certain that it was of the highest quality, however he could not grade the paper, since to almost everyone in the castle it proved illegible." Snape produced her essay, and Hecate immediately saw the problem. Had she really written her entire essay in Runes? Surely she would remember doing so. With a slight smile, Snape added, "Professor Togram said it deserved full marks - although she admitted to only being able to translate a vague idea of the meaning without a dictionary." "I'm sorry, Professor, it won't happen again." She looked at the floor as she spoke the words very quickly. "I know it won't, because you are going to do something about your attitude to work." Hecate looked shocked. As far as she could tell, there was nothing wrong with her attitude - she got all her work done in plenty of time to a perfect standard. Sure, she had started sleeping later than usual over the last couple of weeks and her class notes were less detailed where her mind wandered in lessons, but all her homework was done. "I know that you think there is nothing wrong with your attitude, but I assure you, there is one fatal flaw." "What's that, Professor?" "You have forgotten to relax."  
  
Hecate paled even further, if that was possible with the already sickly pallor of her cheeks, at the mention of relaxation. "I know that you are never seen doing anything but work, whether in your dorm, the common room or the library. You rarely turn up to meals, and when you do, you are working still." Tears began to smear her vision as he continued to speak. "It is not healthy, and if it doesn't stop, we are going to have to take some drastic measures." Hecate glared at her teacher through the tears that were ready to fall. She knew why she couldn't stop, but did she dare tell him that? "Yes, professor." She mumbled, wet streams trailing her cheeks. He looked at her and there was a sadness in his eyes. "I expect to see you at all meals in the future, young lady, and you must make sure to set aside at least a half hour a day for yourself." He moved his arm slightly towards her, as if to put it on her shoulder, but thought better of it and pulled back. Instead, he quickly turned and started fiddling around in a cupboard, muttering to himself. There was a triumphant "Aha!" and he turned, smile quickly drawn back into his familiar scowl, presenting his student with a bar of Honeydukes' finest. "Albus always makes sure I have some chocolate." Seeing the scandalised look on Hecate's face, the merry twinkle quickly left his eyes. "Professor Dumbledore insists that chocolate will cure almost anything. Eat up." Once the entire bar had been consumed, Hecate was allowed to return to her common room.  
  
She had been on her way to the common room to hide-out the lunch break, but now thought it wiser to turn tail and make an appearance in the Great Hall. She arrived with the main throng of students, and made her way over to her house table. She didn't eat much, since she was feeling rather ill from the vast quantities of chocolate she had just consumed, but she made sure that her head of house saw her eat. After only a few minutes, she left the room.  
  
From his seat, Professor Snape nodded in acknowledgement as she settled as far away from the student populous as was possible in the crowded hall. He noticed her make sure that he was watching before each mouthful, and was surprised that she ate as much as she did after he had given her that chocolate. He wasn't especially pleased when she left so quickly, but at least she had had some lunch. He would give it a week before making sure that she was getting better.  
  
For the rest of the week, she made certain to attend every meal, and to only have one of her 'fun' books with her. This was a vast improvement on the past few weeks, and by Thursday, she was beginning to feel better - once more waking up with the sun and managing to perfect up to four curses a day - of course, this was done in strictest secrecy. She had even followed Snape's advice, and set aside a full half hour every morning for herself. It had taken her almost two days to figure out how to do something 'relaxing' and still occupy her mind. In the end, she settled for a half- hour vigorous exercise regime - it exhausted her (so her mind wasn't able to wander) but at the same time made her feel energised and able to face the day.  
  
But she still made no effort to make friends.  
  
On the morning of Halloween, Hecate woke early, settling into her new routine of exercise in the common room, shower and one-new-curse-before-the- others-wake-up, and forcing herself to forget the date. By the time that Pansy made her way out of the bedroom to start her daily Hecate-baiting - well, staring disgustedly from the stairway at her back as she was hunched over a book and ignoring her; it was the closest that Pansy would get to actually baiting her, since she was terrified of the repercussions (everyone below fifth year was, to some degree, scared of her, and everyone else generally avoided her) - the dark haired girl had gone.  
  
Hecate made her way down to breakfast early, and was the first to arrive at the Great Hall. On the way, she met no one, as it was (even by her own standards) exceptionally early to be going to breakfast. And yet, she was not tired - Snape's theory had been correct, and though she was not about to set any time aside for 'recreational procrastination', now that she had begun eating properly and getting enough sleep, she did feel better. At the top of the dungeon stairs, she found herself facing the large double doors into the hall. As far as she could see, there were no students dining this early. Stepping forward, she leaned against the heavy oak and was confronted with decorations that had not been there the night before. Everybody said that the evening Halloween feast was wonderful and well decorated, and it was not uncommon for the more complex, less noticeable decorations to be put up before the feast, but it wasn't even six am! Unable to forget any longer about the date, and upset by the painful memories that it brought up, she fled. She hadn't noticed a lone, dark figure seated at the staff table.  
  
Professor Snape had not been surprised to find the Great Hall empty at a quarter to six. He was caught off guard when one of the doors swung open, revealing his bedraggled state. He looked up just in time to see a retreating stream of black hair as the door slammed again. There was only one student likely to be up at this hour, and her rapid departure worried him.  
  
It was ten past six when Hecate arrived, briefly, back in the dungeons. She returned to her dormitory to find the other girls still sleeping, and quietly began filling her school bag with thick, dusty tomes. When the seams looked about ready to burst, she took out another bag and similarly filled it until she could barely stand under the weight of the books. Slowly, she shuffled back out of her dorm, through the cold, empty common room and out into the grey stone corridor. She had recently discovered an old, unused potions lab only five minutes and two flights of stairs away from Slytherin house. She would not be found there. She did not care about her promise to Snape.  
  
Once in the pitch-dark room, she set her books on a bench. Securing the door with a charm (she was only about 75% sure that it was effective, since it was of the genre of spell-casting learned in fifth-year and nobody had ever found her for it to be tested) she let the cold, dank air of the dungeon seep into her mind. Collapsing against the door, she was unable to muster enough energy to even light a candle, so she curled up in the darkness, the cold stone floor numbing her, and cried, remembering.  
  
It was October 31st, and the cool evening was settling around the quaint, ivy dressed cottage. Three children were preparing pumpkins for juicing, roasting and other forms of eating, before attacking the hollow carcasses with camping knives, carving faces into them with unsteady hands. The family ritual was even more important this year, as it was the last time that all three children would be at home on Samhain night for a long time. Behind curtained windows, a handsome young man was conjuring cobwebs and other, more unsightly, decorations for this night's celebration. His wife stood over several steaming pots in the kitchen, attempting to find uses for the pounds of pumpkin flesh piling up on the work surface, and occasionally rescuing a large pumpkin shell to be used as a soup vat. All the family were in traditional wizarding robes (although the muggle mother insisted on thinking of them as costumes, and they were not to be worn on any other day) and eagerly awaited the arrival of the village's children. They held the biggest Halloween party for miles.  
  
Hecate brought herself back to the dungeon, reducing her tears into gasping hiccoughs. Even the simple ritual of carving pumpkins would never happen again. She would never run screeching at the Viking poetry that would issue unexpectedly from the doorbell each time she stepped on the porch or laugh hysterically that the other children thought it would curse them. She hit the heel of her hand against her brow to clear the image. She slapped, hit and punched herself until she was bruised and in too much pain to think. Then she began working. Being the efficient type, she had already completed her week's homework assignments, and had mastered several more nasty (but entirely legal and mostly harmless) hexes. Not quite sure what she was intending to do, she retrieved a book from her bag and began to read. She completed that book only to start on another, then another - not stopping until the clouds of night had long since fallen.  
  
When his most difficult charge did not re-appear at breakfast or show any signs of having lunch, Severus Snape thought that he should do something. Leaving the hall shortly before the throng, he walked slowly towards his office. As he suspected, he was almost barrelled down by his students, but showed no immediate signs of their passing. When the first years came into sight, he took advantage of the situation: "Miss Parkinson, Miss Bullstrode, how dare you be so impudent as to bar the way of a professor! My office. Now." He led the two, very scared looking, girls in, and began lecturing them on polite conduct in the school halls. Once he had sufficiently reprimanded them, he turned to more pressing business. "I was under the impression that there were more than just two first year girls sorted into this house. Where is Miss Aiwe? Shouldn't she also be on her way to lessons?" His tone was calculating and showed no particular desire to know where the other child was. "I haven't seen her." Millicent answered truthfully. Her teacher's stare seemed to make her decide that more than that statement was necessary, and she began to babble on. "She hasn't been in class today. She is always gone before we wake up, and after curfew she remains in the common room until we are asleep - she never tells anyone where she goes, the library, mostly, but ." Snape raised a hand to cut her off. "That will do. Go."  
  
As the office door was closed behind them, Snape's still raised hand slammed down on the desk. He had checked the library and almost every spare classroom on the first three before classes begun, but had found no more than the usual teenage trysts. He had hoped that her dorm-mates might have some idea where she might be, but now he was just back to patrolling the corridors. He found himself wishing that the marauders were still alive or approachable, since they at least knew every secret passage going. He stood with resolution - if he had not found her by dinner, he would have to talk to Albus.  
  
Snape didn't have any free periods that afternoon in which to look for Hecate. He was quite unnerved to find that, as well as Hecate, Hermione Granger also did not appear in his classroom. When neither girl came to dinner, he looked anxiously at the headmaster, but was unable to express his worries before the stuttering idiot of a dark arts professor came screaming into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll - in the dungeons - thought you ought to know." Then he sank into a dead faint. Several purple firecrackers brought silence to the hall, and Dumbledore ordered the prefects to get their houses into the respective common rooms and the teachers to follow him. Snape was about to do the latter, when he remembered Hermione and Hecate. Hurrying upstairs he had a second thought - the stone. Quickly he swept up to the third floor. He found Quirrel there already, but also discovered Hagrid's 'guard dog'. Three massive heads swung at the two professors. As Snape swung his nemesis out of the room holding him in an armlock with one hand and closing the door with the other, one of those giant heads swept down on his calf, tearing it open. It was nothing he couldn't stand - he had faced far worse under the Dark Lord, and he marched the other swiftly down the stairs. At the sound of screaming, Severus' grip on the other man slackened, and both hurried in the direction of the girls toilets. When McGonagall joined them, Snape hid his animousity from her and let the other man follow, his pathetic mask returning to place. There was a sickening thud, and the three teachers entered the girls toilets to find Potter, Weasley, Granger and an unconscious troll. It was obvious that the Granger girl was lying about how they came to be there, but at that point in time, Snape was to pre-occupied by the pain in his leg to bother with her. Once the children had been dismissed, he left as quickly as was proper, hurrying to his office. He could not be bothered with Poppy and her whys and wherefores of his wound, and so bound it himself, taking a pain reduction draught, before setting out in search of Albus. Halfway down the corridor he cursed, muttered "Idiot" and headed back in the direction from which he had come. He reached the deepest recesses of the dungeons (or at least those which were accessible to the students, should they care to look) and began searching the old, damp and disused potions labs. Eventually he came to a door which would not open. He tried 'Alohamora' and it seemed to shake in its frame, as if in two minds about opening. He tried again, but putting all his energy into the spell, and the door swung open, a single illuminated candle lighting the form of a girl and her book. The panic that he hadn't noticed building ebbed away and relief flooded his face at the discovery. Hecate, of course, did not see this.  
  
*************************End of Chapter Six*******************************  
  
(Samhain = Halloween) 


	7. Chapter Seven Taking Counsel

I apologise profusely to anyone who was reading this before my five-or-so month absence. I was stuck at an emotional point that I just couldn't bring myself to write. That is discounting the stress and depression caused by the insane amounts of pressure put on us at school... I will try to update more regularly, but I'm making no promises. Loud complaints might help me get my arse in gear (  
  
And now, on with the story!  
  
Chapter Seven: Taking Counsel.  
  
Inside her head, Hecate was fighting a battle with the darkness. All she wanted was to be able to wallow in blankness and read, absorbing information to fill the gaping holes in her soul and distract herself from thinking of anything else. She stared at the book she was reading, and could feel herself loosing the darkness she so craved. It was a slow progression – first she had to re-read chapters to fully understand their meaning; not long after, it was several attempts at the same page, same sentence, same word... eventually she could no longer force the blackness that came from concentrating on anything but her feelings and memories, and it faded into a depth of colour and emotion: memory and soul-encompassing sadness filled her mind and she could no longer see the pages in her lap, staring through them into her past.  
  
When Snape found her, she had long since lost her battle. He watched uncertainly for several moments, unsure what action to take. He called softly: "Miss Aiwe?" – no reply. He tried again: "Miss... Hecate?" She sat, unresponsive, staring through her book, tears streaming down her face. She seemed lost in some thought or memory, and he wasn't sure what he should do. He removed the book from her lap, hoping that it would bring her back to the cold dungeon room. She continued to stare at the point where the book had been. Failing to elicit any response, he reached out and touched her hand. It was freezing cold, and, unnoticeable in the darkness of the room, the tips of her fingers were tinged with blue. Seeing no other option, the cruel-hearted potions master put his arms around the motionless form of the child and lifted her, carrying her close to his chest all the way to the hospital wing, and ignoring the twinges of pain in his leg at the extra burden. He was more worried about the fact that his 'burden' was almost skeletally thin beneath her robes and weighed less in his arms than a satchel of books.  
  
Madame Pomfrey was shocked when she saw the dark shape of Professor Snape enter the hospital wing voluntarily, with a slight limp and a small bundle huddled against his chest. She was more shocked when she realised that the bundle was a small child, staring blankly past everything. Telling Snape to set the child on a bed, she administered a dreamless sleep potion before bustling around, determining that there was little wrong with the young Slytherin beyond being cold and malnourished – nothing a warm blanket and a few good meals couldn't solve.  
  
Hecate opened her eyes to find herself in a painfully white room, with faded curtains drawn about the unfamiliar bed that she lay on. Realisation dawned on her and she jumped out of bed, a look of pure terror on her face, only to meet the fussy woman who ran the hospital wing. "Lie down, child!" Madame Pomfrey scolded. The look of terror dissolved into utter fury and she turned on the mediwitch with a scowl that sent her cowering. "How dare you!" She screamed. "You... you put me to sleep! On SAMHAIN!" Hecate then went drastically pale and muttered something that Poppy could only just catch. "Father, Loki, Artemis... forgive me." Immediately the girl fell to her knees, hands clasped in her lap as she wailed her prayers to the only gods she knew. Every funeral prayer and rite for the dead she had ever translated rolled off her tongue as her body swayed back and forth in mourning.  
  
Madam Pomfrey stared at the girl, shocked beyond responding. It was not until at least a minute had passed that the she made the connection between the keening child and her patient and made to comfort the girl. Several minutes had passed and Madam Pomfrey had tried every comforting action she could think of, even putting her arms around the child and holding her close, but not one of her attempts to gain her attention were acknowledged. Eventually she gave up and went over to her office, throwing some powder into the fire and calling the headmaster. "Poppy?" The jovial old man asked as he stepped out of the fire. Noticing the usually composed matron looking so flustered and registering the wails filtering in from the ward he gave a quizzical look. "Is everything okay?" "Oh, Albus! I just don't know what to do! As soon as she woke up she began screaming – something about sowen and her father... and then the screams. She sounds like she's in pain but I don't understand what she's saying and she won't respond to anything I do..." The old man smiled reassuringly. "Floo Professors Snape and Togram, and I'll see what I can do." The matron quickly complied.  
  
Soon, three professors and Madam Pomfrey were standing at the end of the bed on which Hecate knelt, still lost in prayer. "From what I recognise," Professor Togram spoke up, "She is praying for the spirits of the dead... " Snape raised an eyebrow and she huffed at him. "Well, it's a dead language, Professor! Few know it well enough to read fluently, let alone understand the incoherent wailings of a mourning child!" "Enough, Imogen. I know you care for the child as you did for her father so please don't talk like you don't. I believe that she is mourning her family so strongly as she was prevented from recognising their passing last night. It seems that spending her childhood immersed in Norse myth has caused her to believe it as truth. For her, it is very important that the dead are given the proper passing rituals on Samhain night, which she failed because she was incapacitated. I recommend that the curtains are pulled round her bed and she is left to mourn. Once she has exhausted herself, she will sleep and we can talk to her when she wakes." Madam Pomfrey did as asked, and Dumbledore placed a silencing charm on the area. "Check on her every ten minutes and call us back when she wakes." At that, the two professors followed the headmaster from the hospital wing.  
  
*************End Chapter Seven*************  
  
please review.  
  
A/n: anyone who can spot the puns on Hecate's nickname and Prof. Togram's name gets a cookie! 


	8. Chapter Eight To Stem the Flow

Chapter Eight: To Stem the Flow...  
  
It took more than an hour for her grief to completely overcome Hecate. And then she slept peacefully until after dinner. Once she was no longer screaming, Madam Pomfrey had removed the silencing charms and she could now hear voices on the other side of the curtain. One was definitely that of the matron, the other she took a moment to realise belonged to Professor Snape.  
  
"Albus sent me to check on her, Poppy. It is my responsibility as head of Slytherin house..." "But Professor! Surely it would be better for her to talk to someone less... intimidating..." Hecate smirked. Moving in her bed enough that the fussy woman opened the curtains, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth over her ragged throat. "Here you are, dear!" She heard as a vial was pressed to her lips. A liquid ice engulfed her burning vocal chords and she sighed, feeling ready to try her voice once more. "I would like to speak to Professor Snape..." The nurse's eyes bugged at the quiet statement. The young girl then turned pleading eyes on her "Could I leave? Please?" She nodded dumbly. Professor Snape looked bemused for a second before turning to the girl and saying, in a surprisingly gentle voice, "My office, then."  
  
She could sense the hand, millimetres from her back, the entire time she was escorted to the dungeons. She had the impression that he wanted to be reassuring and didn't know quite how. He also had a reputation to uphold. She shook her head, uncaring of his reputation. Somehow, she knew that he was the only one who could understand her enough for her to accept any help. He wasn't coddling or patronising, he just gave patient advice which she knew would help.  
  
She entered the office first, finding comfort rather than disgust in the slime-filled jars that adorned the walls. Taking the seat closest to the struggling fire, she curled her feet under her, reducing her diminutive size even further. She turned her blank eyes to the potions master, suddenly not so certain that this was the face she wanted to see as punisher.  
  
"Miss Aiwe," Snape began, his voice tired and concerned. Hecate jumped at the unexpected tenderness. "I will not punish you for your actions yesterday and this morning. I understand that you are still grieving but you must try to learn to live without letting that grief destroy you. I realise that I cannot force you into friendships, but allowing you to continue as you are is not going to be productive or healthy for either of us so I will make you a deal. Even with your recent slips, your potions grades are still the third best in your year, though your understanding and natural ability is by far the best I have seen in many years. I have arranged with Professor Sprout for you to tutor two of her house in potions for an hour every night. This is non-negotiable." He said, adding the last comment at the look of outrage and indignation on the youngster's face. "As I have said many times this year, it is important for you to be with other people. As well as this, you are to be restricted to studying only in the common room and the library – I will not be happy if I find that you have been anywhere else without my explicit permission and I will warn you now that the Bloody Baron will be keeping an eye on you. I do not want a repeat of last night! Finally, I would like to reinforce the fact that my office is always open to you. Should you need anything – and I mean anything – feel free to come to me. I cannot stress how important it id for you to talk to *somebody* about your feelings. If I find that you have gone against these rules in any way then I will take points and give detentions. Do you understand?"  
  
Hecate nodded meekly; she understood what her professor was doing for her. His last advice had been good – the exercise had made her feel good about herself and eating properly had helped, too. A determined expression gleamed in her dark, pain-filled eyes. "Yes Professor Snape. Thank you."  
  
The potions master stood, motioning to his charge to do the same. Again, he procured a bar of chocolate for her, although this time he didn't force her to consume it. "I expect to see you at every meal and if you remain this skinny I will lock you up in the hospital wing for a week." His smirk at the comment was about as close to a smile as she had ever seen Professor Snape. She took the chocolate and made to leave.  
  
"One more thing before you go," She turned in the doorway. "If you ever want to brew any of those potions I've seen you studying, then I can organise some extra lab time for you. Supervised, of course but I will not intervene unless you want me to." She grinned at her professor, restraining the urge to hug the man. This time she was certain that he smiled, though it was gone before she could really register the expression. "Thank you Professor!" As she heard the door closing behind her, she added a mumbled "for everything."  
  
*** Hecate stuck to her resolve for the entirety of November. She rose every morning with the sun, exercised, showered and practiced at least one spell before the rest of her house were even up. She was the first student to breakfast every morning and had left before most others had arrived, although she always made sure that at least one teacher (usually Snape) had seen her eat before leaving the hall at a run. She practiced some more before classes, read her Nordic History through lunch and dinner and had her homework, extra essays and spells done before bed. She had yet to approach Snape about extra lab time, since he had been in a particularly bad mood since the Quidditch match, but tutored the two Hufflepuffs (Sally- Anne Perks* and Susan Bones) every night without fail.  
  
Hecate had not been to the now infamous Quidditch match. She had little care for the sport and had instead spent the silent hours alone in her dorm translating the first few pages of The Subtle Magic of the Runes – knowing that there were few chances she would get to study the precious text with her housemates gone – she didn't trust anyone, except perhaps Professors Snape and Togram, with her most beloved possession.  
  
Since Halloween night and her subsequent breakdown, Hecate had managed to get over her father's death somewhat. She still prayed for his, and her brothers', spirits each night and she still felt the gaping hole in her chest but the wound had now stopped bleeding. In time, she figured that it would fix itself and be no more than a scar across her heart, but for now she would cope with the open wound.  
  
The progress she had made had, in part, allowed her distraction during the Quidditch. Had she not been able to heal that tiny amount Samhain night, she would not have been able to even *look* at her book without breaking down. It was for this reason that she was oblivious to the excitement caused by Harry's bewitched broom and Slytherin's spectacular failure. But Hecate didn't care for Quidditch and every time the game was discussed within hearing distance of her, she walked away.  
  
She could understand (though not partake in) the obsessive nature of Quidditch fans. What upset her was that it was not really the game that everyone was obsessed with, but Gryffindor's star seeker. She disliked hero- worship, but could summon nothing greater than pity toward the messy-haired youth. She knew what it was like to be known because of your loss – she had seen the looks she was getting in Diagon Alley and was certain that she had been in the papers, though she came nowhere near the Daily Prophet for weeks. She hated what little recognition she had, and could only imagine the pain that Harry felt at being worshipped for living when his parents had died. She knew that there were differences between their situations; he had barely know his family while she had loved them for almost eleven years before they were taken away, but she knew that she would give anything to have them back and was certain that Harry wanted nothing more than his family, whatever Professor Snape might seem to think.  
  
It wasn't until November was drawing to a close that Hecate was suddenly faced with a truth she wasn't ready to hear which caused her resolve to shatter...  
  
*************End Chapter Eight*************  
  
* She is, as far as I can tell from the books, not given a house, so I took the liberty of sorting her. Correct me if I'm wrong and I'll change the name to a known Hufflepuff  
  
A/n – wonderful! I am back in the flow though I don't promise it to last as I have maths coursework and other such mundane details to attend to. I hope you enjoy this chapter, though it is really quite plotless in the latter half I needed the time to pass and could think of no other way to do so. Christmas is only a chapter or so away – that will make for angsty reading I promise!  
  
Anyone figured out the puns in the names yet? They're quite funny but I'm afraid only insane Tolkien fans will get one of them. You have to love linguistic puns. Talking of which I cannot believe that I never noticed the pun in Diagon Alley before! I think I'm just too clever to see the really simple things like that! (I wish – I'm probably just being dense ;) )  
  
Constructive reviewing is always appreciated (although the "this is brilliant!" ones are great for the ego) and flames will be used to keep my mug of tea warm while I type :D  
  
Blessings, Hex. 


	9. Chapter Nine Facing Facts

Chapter Nine: Facing Facts.  
  
It was the last week of November, and Hecate was feeling good. Well, as good as she had felt all term, which was really quite terrible by normal standards, but the pain had dulled marginally (she figured that the missing pain was that which came from no eating and exhaustion). It was not until the Wednesday morning post that she began regressing.  
  
Hecate had almost completely forgotten about the letter that she had sent to her grandfather. After several weeks of looking hopefully at the incoming owls and receiving no mail, she had let the matter slip from her mind. Thus, she was not prepared in any way for the solitary barn owl that swooped down to her side.  
  
Looking searchingly at the parchment she had removed from the owl, and allowing it to snitch her bacon rinds, she tried to still the trembling in her hands as she remembered who the parchment was likely to be from. Opening it carefully, she began to read:  
  
My darling Hecate, favourite of all granddaughters... So, you have finally guessed my secret. I should have known. Of course, I expected you to receive your Hogwarts letter – you will never know how painful it was not to get one. My mother made such a fuss when she realised, decided that it must be a clerical error, but it was not so. I was taken to a muggle orphanage and left there. That is where I met your grandmother, who was also like me, and that is how, even though you were raised a half-blood, your lineage is as pure as that of Malfoy or Black ... sorry, you will assuredly know neither and I digress horribly. The moment I saw the owl, I knew that it had come to this. Your mother knows nothing of her lineage and she must remain ignorant lest she become jealous. I am sorry, sweet child, I have forgotten myself. You are alone, now, and I know how you have pushed away everybody. You must let them in! I can understand your anger – I lost my family at your age, too, so don't start thinking that I don't – and you are always welcome to call on me. You never told me your house. I believe that your father was a Ravenclaw, though now I think about it he may have been in any house. My memory is not as it was! I know that it is hard without your brother, but you must not let it be so! Grieve him, mourn him, remember him but don't let any of those stop you from being. I love you, you know that. You are not the only one in the world who is hurting because of this. Be well. Grandpa  
  
Hecate slowly crumpled the letter as her hands balled to fists. How could it take someone two months to post a letter? How could he say that he understood how she felt? He may have been abandoned by his family, but at least they were still alive! At least he had not been there when they were crushed to death by falling rocks. How could he even begin to understand her pain – he had not lost his other half! He was not hurt!  
  
Not noticing the steady stream of tears leaking out of her screwed-up eyes, or the tiny crescent-shaped cuts forming on her palms, she ran from the hall, thankful that she never brought a bag to breakfast.  
  
Up at the staff table, Severus Snape was once more partaking in an early breakfast, glowering characteristically out at the few students daring to join him. His glare faltered when he noticed the entrance of a single owl, and that owl's destination. An unpleasant feeling of foreboding came to him – this was the first correspondence that the child had received all term...  
  
The feeling grew worse as he noted her changing expression and quick exit. Not again...  
  
Hecate flew through the corridors, not noticing anyone or anything until she collided heavily with someone. Looking up through bleary eyes and errant hair she recognised immediately her professor, and shrank back. She had been sure that he was in the Great Hall when she left...  
  
"Miss Aiwe, I feel that I must once again reprimand you for running into people in the halls. Please come to my office."  
  
Hecate cringed. She hated it when her favourite professor used that tone with her. Miserably, she allowed herself to be led into the now-familiar room. Accepting the seat she was offered, she studiously avoided looking at her teacher.  
  
Obviously realising that she wasn't going to speak first, Snape began: "Miss Aiwe, I am beginning to find your refusal to ask for help greatly annoying. This is certainly not the first time that I have had to drag you into my office in order to force you from self-destruction. Would you mind telling me what exactly was in that letter to cause you to flee from the Hall in such a state?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I shouldn't have been running in the corridors. I'll try to remember that next time," she mumbled to the floor, her voice thick with tears.  
  
"Damn it child!" Snape slammed his fist down on the desk, making Hecate jump in her chair and look up. Reducing the volume of his voice to a snarl, he continued: "I do not CARE that you were running through the halls! What I care about is the reason that you were running."  
  
The tears had stopped falling and Hecate looked fearfully though her dry eyes at the angry wizard in front of her. Stuttering, she began to form a reply.  
  
"I... I was... was... I received a letter..."  
  
"I noticed that." His voice was no longer a snarl, but the familiarly cold, sarcastic drawl saved for the potions 'dunderheads'. Noticing her expression, he added in a slightly warmer tone: "who sent it?"  
  
"My... my Grandfather. My mother's father. He told me... told me that he was a squib. Him and Grandma both are. He said that I was as pureblooded as they come. He told me... said that he understood me... what I was going through... but he doesn't. He can't."  
  
Hecate had begun sniffling again as she recounted her letter. Severus studied her.  
  
"Why can't he understand?"  
  
"Because no-one understands!" She shouted her reply at a volume that shocked herself, although the potions master seemed to expect it.  
  
"How can no-one understand? What about your mother? Did she not also lose them?" His voice was controlled, emotionless.  
  
"But she doesn't understand! She wasn't there! Her father is still alive!"  
  
"Her husband and sons are not, though."  
  
"She hated her husband. She thinks that it served him right to be squished in those tunnels he loved so much! She never understood him. She resents the fact that he killed her sons – her most muggle children – and left her with the witch that she hates! She never cared about me because I never loved her stupid stories!"  
  
"I am sure that your mother doesn't hate you, or your father."  
  
"She always has. She has never loved me, always Loki. Always the most muggle half of the set."  
  
"Hecate..." There was an obvious warning to his tone.  
  
"It's true! She thinks I'm crazy because of the runes! She always laughed because I speak a dead language and pray to forgotten gods." "You are not crazy and I still refuse to believe that your mother hates you. She obviously doesn't understand you, but that is a very different thing."  
  
Hecate spoke quietly, and he barely heard her mumbled "She hates me for living."  
  
Changing the course of the discussion, he asked again. "So why is it that nobody can understand your pain? Why is it that you seem determined to believe that you are the only one to grieve your family?"  
  
"They can't understand. I could have saved him... I could have died instead of him! If I had let him go, then I would be dead and he would be safe and we would be together!"  
  
Following her incoherent confessions was not easy. Presumably the 'him' was not the same as whichever 'him' was part of the 'we'.  
  
"You blame yourself?"  
  
"Of course I do! I could have let Father go for his bag. Then he would be fine. He would be alive and I would be with my Loki."  
  
"Can you imagine what your father would have felt if all his children died and he was spared? Can you imagine the pain that your selfish self wants to inflict on him? It was because of him that you were down there in the first place. Do you think that he would not hate himself for that?"  
  
"But he would be alive. He would be able to do his work and... and..."  
  
"I doubt that he would be able to work after that work killed his three children! I am beginning to wonder how you were ever sorted into my house..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor. I really am. But that letter made me so mad but I think I understand a bit more now, why it was me who had to live. And I really do think that I am a Slytherin... I am surviving, after all and I do plan to live..."  
  
"That is good to hear, child." Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "Go and wash your face before classes start."  
  
Hecate nodded and made to leave the room. A hesitant voice stalled her. "You will remember that I am here, won't you? Next time you want to run away."  
  
"Yes Professor."  
  
"And Hecate?"  
  
"Yes Professor?"  
  
"I will be brewing a number of potions for the hospital wing tonight, one of which is third-year standard which I am sure you would be capable of brewing alone. Would you like to assist me?"  
  
The smile on her face was blinding.  
  
End of Chapter Nine A/N I am incredibly sorry about the lack of updating going on, but my muse is being temperamental with me at the moment and I have just finished my A- levels so any time I wanted to write I had to be revising. Hopefully with summer here now I should be able to write some more...  
  
Please review constructively – I like to know what I'm doing wrong as well as what I'm doing right! 


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